


Sins of the Body

by Entropy House (AnonEhouse)



Category: Drake's Venture
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bodyswap, Curses, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Entropy%20House
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodyswapped by a vengeful wraith, Doughty learns what appetites drive Drake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sins of the Body

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

A cold, wet wind smelling of the sea burst open the flap of the tent Doughtie shared with Drake. Both men were awake on the instant. "Where camest this gale?" Doughtie asked as he struggled to secure the opening. "Twas calm but a few hours since."

"Tis cold as the handclasp of hell," Drake grumbled. He hadn't had much sleep since the massacre on Rathlin. Every time he laid his head down, there had been noises in the night. Unmilked kine, he had thought, but in the morning there was no sign, no hoof prints, no droppings, nothing.

"Aye, tis hell itself gaping wide to call thee to its bosom!" 

Doughtie recoiled from the shrieking face that thrust itself into the tent, followed by the rag-wrapped, bone-thin body of a woman with wild white hair and even wilder eyes so light a gray they gleamed in the fitful snatches of moonlight that danced between clouds. He drew his blade from the scabbard hung on the tent pole. "Get ye away," he shouted. "I've no wish to harm a mad beldame!"

"What's one more woman spitted on thy blade?"

Seeing Doughtie hesitate, Drake seized his own sword and slashed the woman's head off. "Wouldst you be knifed in the guts, Thomas?"

"She was only a pitiful mad crone," Doughtie said, looking down on the corpse. "Like as not, she lost all her kin in the battle and her reason went with them."

Drake snorted and picked up the head with one hand gripped in the hair. "Then 'twas a mercy I granted her. She would not have survived long on her own. Come, let us remove this corpse that we may snatch a remnant of sleep from this night."

"We ought at least to grant the poor creature Christian rites and burial." Thomas knelt to take up the body, but sprang to his feet. "Francis! There is no blood! 'Tis an apparition!"

Drake cursed and tried to throw the head from him, but the hair wrapped around his arm. The mad eyes stared at him and the withered slash of mouth gaped wide to spew venomous words, "Aye, my kith and kin did thee slaughter, and thy homes thy did kiss with firedrake's breath. From the sea thee came, and to the sea thee shalt return, the earth shall not welcome thee, murderer!"

Drake cried out and clawed at the hair, falling to his knees to fight it. Strands wrapped about his neck and tightened until he fell onto his side, insensible.

Doughtie stared in horror, and then he reached out with his sword towards the head. "Back to the pit, thy foul fiend!"

"You call me fiend? And ye call the firedrake thy friend? He who slaughters the unarmed, the women, and even the wee babes, he be the fiend!" The head cackled wildly. "Aye, thee shall know the sharpness of his gratitude; even as I!"

"I shall send for the priest," Thomas said, shaken. He had not witnessed the battle, but he had been surprised to hear there had been no prisoners. "He will shrive thy soul, and pray for all who died here."

"You have a kind heart, my pretty fool," the head said. "I grant thee a gift in return. You shall be the firedrake's companion; that is written in the smoke and blood on the wind. I cannot change that. But I can help thee see through the dragon's eyes." Hair stretched out impossibly long and entwined Doughtie's neck. With a choked cry, he fought until he too lay beside Drake.

The head cackled more and more shrilly until the sound thinned and vanished into the night. The smell of the sea strengthened as the body melted into a pile of seaweed clothing scattered bones.

***

Doughtie opened his eyes and coughed. Everything was slightly blurry. He blinked, and raised his hand to wipe across his eyes, and then froze. That... wasn't his hand. Even by fitful moonlight and blurred vision he saw knotted tendons and scars. He'd always been careful of his hands. He held up the other and suddenly realized he wasn't wearing his rings, but ... Drake's. Were these Drake's hands? He turned them over in horror. Was this... Drake's body? He turned to the warm presence he felt beside him and stared at... himself.

Dear God, Mary and Jesus. Doughtie began praying while unable to keep his eyes off his own sleeping face. He was disturbed by the feelings that came to him, feelings that should only accompany the sight of a woman. He prayed louder and faster, begging the Lord to lift this curse. The lust that filled him was stronger than he had ever known. He had envied Drake his bold spirit and appetites, now he wondered at the needs of this body, to desire even the unspeakable.

He saw his own eyes open, and the pallor of shock spread across his own features, making him even more beautiful and desirable. Doughtie broke off praying with a groan, to frantically pull at his staff. Better he should spill his seed in front of his friend than to assault him. He felt the power in the body he now wore; the rage, and the need to control, to possess. 

And then Drake spoke with Doughtie's lips and tongue and throat. It was Drake's way of speaking, but not his voice. No, it was the voice Doughtie had heard a few times when close to corners of stone or brick in chapel he had sung hymns. He'd heard them sweet and resonant, in the voice others said he had. 

Drake said in that sweet voice, "The witch, blast the hell-bitch!" Tears shone in his eyes, Doughtie's eyes. "I wouldst' you had never known."

The vulnerability made the cock he held so tightly leap and struggle like a fish in the net. With the direct, unflinching gaze Doughtie had come to expect of him, Drake stared at the purple club Doughtie tried to strangle. " 'tis no use, Thomas. The coldest of waters, the sternest of thoughts, e'en punishing myself with flogging... hath no remedy to cure my nature."

Doughtie would have turned aside, but the grief in the dark eyes Drake now wore tore at his own soul. " 'tis only a venial sin, Francis."

"Think you that I care a fig for hell-fire and damnation? God hath made me thus, if there be damnation for it, 'twas the Lord's will, not mine own! I know only that the only pleasure I ever found was in the arms of some sweet lad. And I never wanted any so much as I want you."

Doughtie was shocked. " 'tis blasphemy, Francis. We are all sent trials to test us, you must resist. Resist and confess!"

Drake rose on one elbow. Doughtie was even more horrified to see him bring his hands down to cup and stroke the limp member of his borrowed body. " 'I care naught for confessions. What maketh a priest better qualified than I to cry out to God? I hath spoken many times with our Lord. He hath told me that I am destined for greatness."

"Greatness in the eyes of man is nothing compared to the blessings of heaven." Doughtie could not stop watching Drake's expert manipulations, how quickly he found all the most responsive places, how swift and full the result. And then he did something that made Doughtie gasp. He pulled up his knees and exposed his arsehole.

"I have never let another have the use of me. Come Thomas, tis not so very different from the way of a man with a woman. What I ask of you is so very simple."

Doughtie shook his head, but his... this... whole body shook with desire, inflaming him so he felt his blood would boil and he would burst like a melon dropped from the battlements. "I... no... do not ask this."

Drake opened a skin of rendered goose grease and... Doughtie tried to look away as his own, once his own... fingers scooped grease and pressed into himself. " 'tis wondrous how good it feels to be inside a man, Thomas. They tell me 'tis even better for the one who plays the woman. Show me, Thomas."

"I... I... cannot." Doughtie watched, hypnotized as ever any mouse by snake, as the fingers went in and out, play-acting sex. 

"P'raps 'tis the only way to break the spell. Wouldst you keep my body, Thomas? Wouldst you allow me to keep yours and use it with every cabin boy I take?" Drake moaned as he thrust fingers deep within. "I might e'en let one have me thus, if you will not."

"No! For pity's sake, Francis, have mercy on me!" 

Drake smiled. "Take me. What sin is there in pleasuring your own body? Surely 'tis a small one."

Doughtie groaned as he gave up the battle. He fell to his knees beside Drake. "Surely I shall be damned, but damned I must be."

"Damned with me, then. We shall fight the devil's hordes together." Drake grasped the stiff member Doughtie presented, slick fingers sliding roughly its length once, and then again. "I have waited for you since we met, I'll wait no longer. Press into the fray. Sheathe your blade in me and find victory." He put the slender legs he controlled around the burly waist of the body above him. 

Doughtie groaned and obeyed. He fumbled a moment, then forced his way in. He gasped at the same time Drake gave a cry of pain. He would have stopped, wanted to stop, but once he was within, the need filled him so he could not think, would have killed any who sought to stop him. He felt his own carefully manicured nails dig into his back as he thrust ruthlessly, paying no heed to Drake's attempts to moderate his pace. He burned; he burned with dragon's fire. Cursed and damned and burning in hell, he buried himself in the body that clawed and fought him. Fought, but never as he knew that body capable of fighting, never as he knew Drake could fight.

Drake shouted and pushed up, fighting still, but fighting to bring them closer, not to drive them apart. "Yes!" he shouted and drew his lips back in a fierce grin. "Yes! You are mine now, Thomas! Mine!"

Doughtie looked down into the face below him, and for a moment his vision cleared. He saw the dragon, saw the visions of the dragon's future, did he not yield, yield heart and soul and all that he was. Drake's passions would either be fed, or they would devour. The moment came then, and he flung his head back, crying out Drake's name as he spent himself. The legs about him tightened, the tunnel clasping him tightened, the world itself tightened, and drew dark and quiet about him. He fell into darkness, damned and replete.

The next time Doughtie opened his eyes he could see clearly. Dawn's golden light outlined the opening of the tent and glinted on the salt crystals drying on the bones piled there. He ached, inside and out. He drew his hand up into sight and breathed a sigh of relief at the familiarity of it, skin and sinew, dusting of dark hair over the back, slender fingers adorned with his rings. "Praise heaven."

"Aye," Drake said behind him. "Thee seest? If 'twas against God's will, would the spell have been cast asunder?"

Doughtie felt lips press against his shoulder. He remembered the avaricious dragon, and shuddered. 

Drake's voice was soft and rough, like a lion's mane. "Keep thy place, and I shall make it an exalted one." He pressed greased fingers into Doughtie's arse.

Doughtie bit back a cry of protest. He deserved the pain for his cowardice. He could not go against the dragon. That way led not only to his early grave, but to disgrace and pain for others, including his friends and brother. Even the dragon. Drake would kill and be feared, have wealth and be despised, be knighted and yet scorned, wed and unloved.

And he had discovered that he loved the dragon more than his own life and honor. He closed his eyes and opened his legs, letting the fingers go where they will. A cry of surprised pleasure tore out of his throat when Drake did something inside of him.

"Yes," Drake said, in the gentlest voice Doughtie had ever heard him use. "I shall ever care for thee, protect thee and love thee only." He pushed Doughtie onto his belly and mounted, groaning with pleasure. He paused at Doughtie's gasp of pain as already raw flesh was further abused. " 'Twill be easier anon. I shall teach thee to joy in being ridden." With that he began thrusting, deep and hard.

Doughtie felt tears leak from his eyes even as his body rejoiced in the pain and the pleasure, in being possessed by the dragon, pleasure in the uncanny fire that filled him when Drake's member struck that same place his fingers had stroked. Drake pulled him up to kneel as if in worship and grasped Doughtie's member with one tough, scarred hand. "Mine," Drake growled as he claimed his treasure.

Doughtie gave himself up to the dragon's fire. If he were going to hell as Drake's mount, it would be a glorious battle. And he doubted the devil would win.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2009? DV ficathon For alinewrites' request- Body swapping - Thomas in Francis' body and vice-versa.


End file.
